


Snow and Blankets

by jolecia



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 13:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16975821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolecia/pseuds/jolecia
Summary: Elizabeth and Valentine wait for George to return home. Just a short winter fic which I wrote last year to cheer myself up.





	Snow and Blankets

The night was still and silent, the usual culprits of the midnight sounds that habitually surrounded Trenwith having more sense than to be out and about in the freezing cold that this year’s midwinter had brought to Cornwall. Outside, snow was drifting lazily from the laden clouds that had been lingering above them since late that afternoon, and was showing no signs of stopping. Already the grounds were coated in a thick, powdery layer of white, and it was fast deepening as flake upon flake fell relentlessly down onto the earth below.

The inhabitants of the house, however, were paying no heed to what was occurring outside. In fact, only one of them was even awake, having been awoken by the restless shifting of her newest babe, not long to arrive. Nestled safely in the warm confines of hers and her husband’s bedchamber, Elizabeth Warleggan smiled softly, placing a gentle hand on her rounded stomach as she regarded the two other occupants of the bed, both deep asleep beside her. George was turned to face her, his expression more serene than she had ever seen it whilst he was awake, a mound of blankets pulled around him to ward off the cold. In his arms was Valentine, curled up against his chest in an attempt to snuggle into his father’s warmth. The pair of them looked so peaceful together, she couldn’t help but think–no indication of the hectic evening they had had lingering in the sight before her, for all she knew that it had happened.

Earlier that day, before the snow had come in, George had been called away to the Bank on urgent business–what, she did not know, but it had required his personal attention. George, of course, had been quick to respond. That had hardly surprised Elizabeth who, after three years of marriage to him, knew very well that her husband’s dedication to his business was absolute, though no longer all-consuming. Still, she had been a little disappointed to see him go, having been enjoying the warmth of his company that morning. Valentine, too, had been rather upset at his departure, though George had assured them both that he would return as soon as he could.

The hours had stretched on and, though Elizabeth rationally knew that whatever matter he had to deal with at the Bank would take time, she had begun to feel those familiar creeping nerves, a remnant of the memory of the night Francis did not come home, niggling in the back of her mind. She had forced them down for Valentine’s sake–though only a toddler, he was a clever child, and would undoubtedly think something were amiss if she were to become uneasy. Half to keep her mind off those dark thoughts, she spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon entertaining her son, playing games with him, telling him stories about Geoffrey Charles’ latest adventures at school, and about his new sibling that was on the way. This seemed to cheer Valentine up, who was incredibly excited at the thought of having a little brother or sister–she knew he missed Geoffrey Charles, who had been a constant presence throughout all of his early life–though he still asked after his father every now and then, too young to have the patience to wait any length of time for George’s return.

A little after the hour for high tea had hit, it had begun to snow. Elizabeth had regarded it with no small amount of worry, hoping that it would ease off before George, who had ridden to Truro on horseback, made to return to Trenwith. Her prayers had not been granted, however, as the snow fell thicker and faster as the afternoon progressed into evening, and the light dimmed to a deep dark blue, the flakes so dense in the air that she could barely make out the end of the driveway from the parlour window. Likewise, the clock ticked and ticked and, with her husband still yet to return, Elizabeth had found her stomach twisting itself in knots, her mind racing to a thousand horrible conclusions despite her desperate attempts to quash them.

It had started to get late, and Elizabeth had resolved to get a restless Valentine ready for bed. Her son, however, had had other ideas. Valentine, having noticed his father’s extended absence, refused to go to bed until he returned, no matter what Elizabeth said or did. Even the combined efforts of herself, Mrs Tabb, the nanny and one of the housemaids could neither persuade him, and Elizabeth had eventually given in and allowed him to remain beside her in the parlour as she waited for her husband to return.

It hadn’t been until late into the night, past eleven o'clock, that she had heard the clop of hooves against the driveway. Carefully, so as not to disturb a slumbering Valentine, who had fallen asleep at her side about an hour earlier, she had extracted herself from the sofa and rushed–at least as much as her current condition would allow, which was not much–to the door, relief washing over her like wave over sand.

“My dear?,” George had asked in a low voice, a confused frown on his face as he entered the hallway. “You need not have waited for me.”

“I wanted to,” Elizabeth had replied, accustomed by now to their usual exchange on this point–she often marvelled at how her concern for him could still surprise him, but she supposed the effect of so many years alone and with only is cold-blooded uncle for company was both deep and difficult to counteract. “Besides, Valentine refused to go to bed until you returned. He has fallen asleep in the parlour.”

George’s lips quirked in amusement at that, not the dry smile that he used whilst out in public but the soft, affectionate one that he reserved for his family, and Elizabeth had found herself smiling back, resting her left hand on her stomach and taking his own in her right. Even though he had been wearing gloves, his skin was like ice.

“Oh, George, you must be freezing,” she gasped, realising now that the relief was no longer at the forefront of her mind that he was shivering slightly. “Come in and warm yourself up.”

“Do not concern yourself, Elizabeth. I am sure I shall thaw out soon enough” George returned, quick as ever to assure her of his wellbeing, whether the statement were true or not. Nevertheless, he made no protest as she tugged him along into the parlour and directed him to sit by the fire. It had been low, almost dying at that point, but she still imagined that it was a great deal warmer than outside, and from the expression on his face, George had clearly appreciated it.

After a while, they had decided to retreat to their chamber, George gently picking a still sleeping Valentine up from the sofa and settling him on his hip. At that point, the little boy had stirred, blinking blearily up at his father.

“Papa?”

“That would be me, yes” came the fond reply.

“Came back” said Valentine, yawning hugely and wrapping his little arms around George’s neck, head falling to rest on his shoulder as he promptly fell straight back asleep.

Now, neither father nor son had stirred an inch since their heads had hit the pillow and, as a little foot pressed against the hand resting on her stomach, she couldn’t help but look fondly down at the pair of them. It had taken so long to find the happiness she had been seeking, but here with her husband, her son and another babe on the way, she knew that no one and nothing could take it away from her again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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